The Line in the Sand
by Jasmine2009
Summary: When Tony disappears, Gibbs makes a realization about his own feelings while the team learns a thing or two about DiNozzo's private life. Tony focus.


Title: The Line in the Sand  
Author: Jasmine2009 (AKA Jasmine)  
Date: November 25, 2010 Date Published: 8/5/2015  
Universe: NCIS, Season 6  
Rated: PG  
Summary: When Tony disappears, Gibbs makes a realization about his own feelings while the team learns a thing or two about DiNozzo's private life. Tony focus.  
Challenge: This was a personal challenge.

NOTE: Thank you for the reviews. I've edited this and made some changes to correct typos and fix parts that might have been a little confusing. Thanks for reading and commenting! ~Jasmine

*******************************************8

Gibbs glanced quickly at the empty desk on the way to his own. "Where's Tony?"

McGee and Ziva exchanged glances, silently trying to decide which one of them was going to respond. It was McGee who succumbed to the Gibbs' look. "He's not here, Boss."

"I can see that, McGee. Where is he?"

Ziva quickly added, "He has not called in, either."

"Get him on the phone."

"I've tried; he's not answering— but I'll try again."

"Do it on the road," Gibbs said tossing the keys to McGee, "we got some bones in Quantico."

Gibbs stared straight ahead, paying little attention to the scenery outside his window. He was deep in thought over his senior agent. A cryptic call into the office yesterday saying he wasn't coming in, again, and then nothing today. Not like DiNozzo, but not _unlike_ him either. Moreover, the past few days, Tony has seemed preoccupied, not his usual self, but in typical DiNozzo fashion, his quick thinking, wit and raw intelligence has made it difficult for anyone to discern his mental state. Even Ziva feels her partner's absence for she's off her game (if only by half a second). No one else would notice it, but to a former Marine with years of experience, it's obvious. Only McGee, with his data driven brain, appears impervious to the absence.

"Boss?"

"What?"

"We're here."

Gibbs swerved the car into the parking lot and came to an abrupt halt, ignoring the concerned looks he was getting from his passengers. He got out and gazed around the marine base, seemingly refocusing his thoughts.

Ziva and McGee knew better than to comment on his driving, so they gave each other a non-committal look and waited. Once again, it was McGee who nudged his boss, "Where to?"

"Over there, by the museum," Gibbs said, pushing any more thoughts of his absent agent out of his head so he could concentrate on the crime at hand.

Upon initial inspection, it appeared that heavy rains must have washed away the top layer of dirt and left what looks to be the remains of a body behind. Ziva took pictures of the bones as they protruded up through the ground. She wasn't educated in the area of orthopedics, but to her untrained eye, they didn't look human. She snapped one picture after the next, forcing her brain off the subject of her partner and onto the subject at hand. With quiet detachment, she watched Ducky and Palmer arrive and begin their preliminary assessment.

"I don't know what to make of this, Jethro," Ducky said.

"What's wrong?"

"For starters, where's Tony? Three days in a row is not like our young man."

When Gibbs ignored the question, Ducky accepted that as an 'I don't know,' and said, "These bones are not human… well, at least most of them aren't. This one here might be…"

Ziva let her mind drift away from the conversation and back to her partner. He wasn't around to take pictures; he wasn't around to make some smartass remark about the bones not being human; and he wasn't around to drive the car, collect evidence, or offer theories. It was just plain weird.

"Ziva!"

She jerked up to find four sets of eyes staring at her. "Yes?"

Gibbs gave her a hard look, making her feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny, before repeating, "Take perimeter pictures, 50 meter radius. I want to know if these could have washed down from somewhere."

"On it." Ziva answered, then she began pacing off the distance, thankful for the task so she could stop thinking about him.

*******************************************8

By late morning, the bones were in autopsy being sorted and analyzed by both the medical examiner and his assistant; the rest of the evidence was in the hands of the most capable forensic scientist in the agency—if not the country, and Ziva and McGee were back at their desks trying to look busy. Without a name or gender identification, there wasn't much for them to do. They already had a list of everyone on base which they were comparing to the missing-person database, but the computer was doing most of that work. McGee looked across the bullpen and wondered how she could look so calm. Now that there was a case to work, he was a nervous wreck worrying about Tony, but he wasn't so sure if he was actually worried about him, or just worried about what Gibbs was going to do to him when he finally decided to show up to work. He'd seen Gibbs annoyed and he'd seen Gibbs furious—hell, he'd even seen Gibbs worried, but he'd never seen Gibbs quite like this.

To be efficient, McGee had already placed Tony's cell phone on a continuous loop and his phone was calling it every five minutes. Once an hour, he'd leave a message that at times was friendly and pleading, while at other times was just plain curt and commanding. Anticipating what his restless boss might want, Tim had initiated a trace on Tony's cellular GPS. He'd never done this without prior authorization and he was feeling pretty damn guilty about doing it now. If it had been anyone else's GPS, he would have been fine, but being that it was Tony's, he felt like he was crossing that invisible line that Tony drew between his personal life and his professional one. McGee leaned his chin in his hand and stared at his screen.

Ziva stared at the empty chair across from her. When Tony wasn't there, the world at NCIS seemed a little off, like a forty watt bulb was where a hundred should have been. She would often catch herself staring at him while he worked, admiring his ability to grab random facts and make something out of seemingly unrelated clues. His brain was not methodical, like her's or McGee's, nor did it have that supernatural quality like Gibbs', but it was raw and powerful, and she liked that. If she allowed herself, she would fantasize about her co-worker, but that usually occurred at night in the privacy of her bedroom where she could do something about it.

She caught sight of her boss and followed him down the steps with her eyes. He was pissed. His body language exuded anger and she couldn't remember a time when he appeared so agitated. He was standing at her desk staring back at her before she realized it. "Have you found him yet?"

She was temporarily startled by the intensity of his gaze but recovered quickly and said, "I've begun pulling his phone records to determine who he has called. So far, no one out of the ordinary." She breathed a sigh of relief when he pushed off her desk and looked at the other agent in the bullpen. McGee felt validated in his earlier actions and answered, "I've initiated a GPS trace on his cell, but so far nothing."

Seemingly unaffected by the news, Gibbs left.

Exchanging a glance, the two agents locked eyes, sharing a mutual concern for their colleague as well as their boss. With nothing to say to each other, they returned to their thoughts in the hopes of thinking of something that would justify Tony's absence, at least in their own minds if not in the mind of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

*******************************************8

Gibbs exited the elevator and walked through the sliding doors of autopsy. "You got anything on these bones yet?"

Ducky and Palmer had been laying the evidence on metal slabs and were engaged in a guessing game of where DiNozzo might be when they heard the doors slide open. Ducky shrugged, "I do believe that none of them are human remains. I originally thought that this bone might be, but upon closer inspection, I now believe it belongs to a primate, not unlike us, but a primate all the same."

"You mean a monkey?"

"Yes, I mean a monkey. Most of these bones resemble that of human remains, but they aren't human bones. Take this one," he picked up one of the larger pieces. "It looks like a femur bone and it very well may have been that of a young person, but the shape of it, its angle, is different, indicating that it's not from a human leg."

"So you're telling me none of these are human?"

"I have not completed my analysis, but based on my current findings, I would say yes."

"How long before you're sure?"

"To go through all these bones and definitively rule out any human connection would take some time. Maybe five or six hours."

Ducky called out to him as he was leaving, "Have you heard from Tony?"

"No."

"Jethro, remember that he is young AND Italian. And often those two traits run counter to one another."

Palmer felt relief when the door slid closed and asked, "You think that Tony just partied too much and that's why he isn't coming to work?"

"No, Mr. Palmer, I don't. I think Tony has a reason for not coming to work; I just hope it's good enough to appease his boss."

If there was someone in all of NCIS who could totally piss off people, it was Anthony DiNozzo. Palmer both feared and admired him for it. He hadn't realized he was lost in thought until his boss cleared his throat and brought him back to the present.

Gibbs was met with loud metal music when he entered Abby's forensics lab. From behind, her pig tails were bouncing to the beat, and if he didn't know better, it looked like the screens flashing through the various databases were also keeping beat. "Abbs? ABBS!"

She whipped around and smiled at her boss, "Hi, Gibbs." She picked up the remote and turned down the music, "I've been waiting for you. I expected you two minutes ago."

He stood silently, impatiently.

"Well, okay then…" she stuttered. "I found several prints and a partial on the evidence you brought me and I'm running them for a match while we speak. I also found particulates which so far haven't matched anything from my databases, so I'm running them through my secondary databases which include over one million little-known, inferior, home-grown and any other crude, mediocre, out-dated and basically unknown substances."

"Let me know if you get a match."

"Gibbs!" Abby called after him as he was trying to leave. She wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject but today just wasn't like any other day. "Is it true? Is Tony AWOL?"

He pursed his lips and gave a slow nod.

"You know this isn't like him. Something must be wrong."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Abby. Keep working on the evidence and call me when you got something."

Abby wanted to say more, but he was gone and whatever said would have been lost on the empty room. Instead she turned her music back up and forced her mind to think about her work and not her favorite agent.

Gibbs stood in the empty elevator. The doors had shut, yet it hadn't moved. He liked the solitude of the box; a place to think without interruptions. After flipping the emergency stop switch, he leaned back against the cold wall and stared up at the ceiling. Was Tony being impetuous? Probably not. Was Tony in trouble? Probably. At least that's what his gut told him.

Four nights ago, Tony had come to him with… a problem? Advice? He'd be hard pressed to remember what exactly it was now, but he remembered feeling annoyed with his agent, like DiNozzo shouldn't be bothering him with his problems. As far back as he could remember, he'd always acted somewhat aloof whenever his senior agent had come to visit him in his basement, but this time was different. This time, he wasn't indifferent to the visit; he was pissed. It became evident to both of them that Tony should probably leave and so he did. But the problem that night wasn't with Tony, the problem was with him. He was the one that needed to come to grips with his own emotions. He was the one who wasn't whole, suffering from a terrible sense of loss that he couldn't seem to shake. This insane feeling had started gnawing at his gut months ago and instead of squelching it, he had allowed it to fester. He couldn't—or wouldn't—figure out what it meant or why he had allowed it to grow, but he had, and now it was almost impossible to think about anything else. Over the months, this feeling had taken hold of his head and he'd become preoccupied with it, perhaps obsessed, even though he didn't know what _it_ was.

Eventually, he had forced himself to confront it. Late at night and over a bottle of Jack Daniels, he searched his soul and eventually pinpointed exactly why he was experiencing these intense feelings of despair: he discovered it was the absence of Jenny Shepard. And he discovered that he was the one who silently blamed Dinozzo for her death, however minutely, however insane, and however undeserved, it all pointed to his underlying feelings that DiNozzo should have somehow prevented it. In his mind, he knew he was wrong. He knew that DiNozzo was not to blame, but in his heart, he felt her absence every day… some days worse than others, some nights longer than usual. So there it was, out in the open for him to finally examine and come to terms with. He had believed that he was over that whole horrible incident and had come to terms with her death, but when Tony showed up unexpectedly four nights ago, it must have unleashed some latent feelings of anger and resentment.

The elevator was suddenly making him feel trapped and he knew he had better squash those thoughts before they could mature into guilt ridden emotions that would impede his ability to do his job. He did remember one thing about that night. He remembered how they'd left it: Tony quietly got up and left, not even finishing his drink. His body language all but said how he felt: alone, dejected, disheartened.

And the worst part about that was he just let him go. He watched as Tony climbed the steps, out of sight. Even when he closed his eyes against the memories, it only made it worse because he saw all, every nuance, every smell, every word, simultaneously.

Once again Gibbs let his own cynical thoughts and misplaced anger get in the way of other people's lives: another reason to hate himself. He thought about his advice to Abby, but he knew she was right. Tony always answered his phone and always dropped whatever he was doing if NCIS needed him. But was something wrong, or was it DiNozzo's way of coping. Tony had learned many a mechanism over the years to handle rejection and loneliness and maybe this was just one more way of dealing.

He switched the lever and felt the box jerk as it moved him effortlessly up. He had no way of knowing that he was getting ready to go fishing for a shark with a child's pole.

*******************************************8

McGee jumped to attention and accosted him. "Boss, I was finally able to track Tony's cell phone. I had to turn it on remotely because there hasn't been any activity on it since the day before yesterday, but I think I've located it—"

"—Where is it!"

"At his apartment."

Ziva added, "I pulled his phone records and there's no patterns of incoming or outgoing calls that would suggest anything unusual."

"Did he have another phone?"

McGee answered, "Not that we know of."

Gibbs stared at the cell phone records on the plasma screen, painfully aware that his two remaining agents were waiting for him to give the order. He looked at his watch. Maybe he was overreacting. DiNozzo just may have wanted to distance himself from everyone, take a day or two to clear his head, although the more likely reason was Tony wanted to distance himself from him—the asshole who wouldn't listen to his problem. He hadn't given DiNozzo the time of day, and he definitely hadn't helped him with whatever problem he was having. In fact, quite the opposite had happened.

Now, it was time he helped his agent. He was going to do what he should have done four nights ago when Tony came to him for help. It might be a little more difficult now, without Tony, but not impossible. It should be easy to figure out what was on Tony's mind; after all, that's what he did for a living. "I want a total workup on him. I want to know everything about him going back six months to a year. I want to know about every girl he's dated, every pick-up game of basketball he's played, every person he's talked to."

"That'll take some time—"

"You've got five hours. Make it happen!"

"On it, boss."

"Ziva, put together a-day-in-the-life profile. I want to know Tony's routine, from the time he wakes to the time he goes to sleep."

"On it."

Gibbs stared at the screen, thinking that wasn't so bad. He thought he would feel like scum working up a profile on Tony, but it made him feel better. It sort of validated his gut and he preferred doing something to feeling guilty, even it if did feel like he was crossing the line.

And if this turned out to be some sort of hoax…

*******************************************8

When Gibbs entered the bullpen, it didn't surprise him to see Ducky, Palmer, and Abby milling about; what did surprise him was seeing Vance.

"There's a rumor floating around that Special Agent DiNozzo is MIA…again. Any truth to that rumor?" the director asked.

"He's not here, and he's not at home."

"That could just mean he's nursing a hangover at a girlfriend's apartment."

Gibbs gave the director a steady glare, underscoring the fact that Tony is a lot of things, but that's not one of them. He turned to his field agents and said, "What'd ya got?"

McGee punched on his keyboard, sending the display to the plasma. "Tony's social life is what you'd expect. Here are photos of every girl he's been seen with the past year." One beautiful girl after the next popped up.

Palmer looked closer at the screen and in amazement asked, "He's dating Miss March?"

McGee elaborated, "He dated Pamela Hammond, also known as Miss March, for approximately four months until, according to my sources, she wanted more from their relationship."

"And let me guess… he ran?" Ziva said, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, he ran into the arms of one Sharon Blackwell, a prominent socialite out of New York. From her, he went out with Becky Tate, Terri Miller, Marie St. Cloud, and Amy Berrand. None of them holds a grudge against him, even Miss March. She claims she moved too fast and scared him and it was entirely her fault."

McGee continued, "When he wasn't dating beautiful women, he was playing basketball. I only found a handful of people who would talk to me though."

"It sounds like they didn't want to play with him," Ziva said.

"On the contrary, they loved it when he showed up. If I may quote a Jerrell McNeely, "Big T's a damn good player for a white guy."

"Big T?" Ziva repeated.

"Everyone's got a nickname and that's what they call Tony. Only Tony doesn't keep a schedule and only sporadically makes appearances. Unfortunately, there's more to this than anyone is willing to say, according to my source at MPD."

"You have sources at MPD?" Gibbs asked, somewhat surprised.

Feeling slightly indignant, McGee raised his chin and mumbled, "Yes, I have sources…" but he couldn't bring himself to tell them that they were actually friends of friends who had sources and who owed him a favor for fixing a computer problem.

Ziva punched on her keyboard and redirected her data to the plasma and continued, "Tony is not a creature of habit; in fact, there are few things that Tony does each and every day, let alone at the same time. Near as I can piece together, he awakens any time between 5am and 9am. He may, or may not, go for a run. Based on credit card purchases, he may, or may not, buy a newspaper, coffee or Danish. He arrives here to work, usually late, but sometimes he is on time, and sometimes he is even early. At work, he makes few personal phone calls, but receives many, to which he mostly ignores. A search of his computer indicates he spends much of his time researching everything from terrorists' activities to the Mafia. In the past six months, he has done follow up checks on 90% of the people he has arrested. Evidently, he likes to keep tabs on those who might hold a grudge. He leaves work anytime between 5pm and midnight, if he leaves here at all. He may, or may not, stop for dinner; he may, or may not, go for a run. He may, or may not, go to a local bar. Lots of people text him wanting to hook up; few people get his attention. I do not know what time he goes to sleep, but according to surveillance cameras here at NCIS, he will often arrive back at the office anytime between midnight and 4am, do some work, and then leave again."

Gibbs stared at a frozen frame of Tony's nighttime activities in the office. "You been trying his cell phone?"

"Every five minutes."

"Where'd you say it was located?"

"According to records, I think it's at his apartment in Southeast DC. Not a particularly good neighborhood."

Gibbs thought a second, then pulled out his car keys and tossed them to McGee, "Let's go!"

"Where?" McGee asked.

"To Tony's apartment."

McGee caught the keys but didn't make any move to follow. Ziva grabbed her backpack, but upon hearing their destination, she too froze. Halfway out Gibbs stopped and turned to look at his agents. Was the request so absurd that they couldn't bring themselves to go? "That wasn't an invitation!"

"I know, Boss. It's just that I don't know where Tony lives?" McGee admitted.

Gibbs redirected his eyes from McGee to Ziva.

Realizing what he was insinuating, she hastily replied, "I have never been to his place either!"

Gibbs looked at everyone, including Palmer and Ducky, hoping someone would step forward and admit they'd been to Tony's apartment. Even he hadn't been to his new place. Not that it was all that new, but Gibbs hadn't been to his place in over five years and Tony had since moved. When no one said anything, he held his hands out and said, "Well, where the hell does he live?"

*******************************************8

Gibbs drove fast, running yellow lights and barely slowing for traffic. McGee had punched his keyboard and learned that Tony's personnel file says he lives on Good Hope Road in Southeast, DC. Not too far from the Navy Yard. Anacostia was just across the river and once he drove over the 11th Street Bridge, Ziva felt like she had entered into a war zone. The parks had fences around them, but for what reason, she wasn't sure; the playground equipment inside was damaged and mutilated and unusable. The store fronts were barely visible behind iron gates that were chained and padlocked. Trash littered the sidewalks which, along with the roads, were in bad need of repair. The row houses had bars at the windows and bullet holes in the doors. McGee instructed Gibbs to the 1700 block of Good Hope Road where they found a parking lot that at one time might have been smooth pavement, but was now chunks of asphalt, gravel and dirt surrounded by holes that were filled with water from the recent rains. The building was not an apartment complex, nor was it anything resembling a dwelling. Gibbs leaned forward over the steering wheel to get a better look at the place. "Are you sure this is where he lives?"

McGee nodded, also staring at the five story dilapidated warehouse that stood before them. "According to his personnel file, it is."

"Let's go," Gibbs said.

They walked past a group of boys loitering on a set of steps. Their ages ranged from ten to late teens. The tats on their limbs linked them to a tough neighborhood gang, and the hardware they boasted meant they weren't much on words. Aware they were being watched, Gibbs, Ziva and McGee turned the corner of the building looking for an entrance. Three turns later, they had made it back to the group of boys.

Gibbs approached them. "Is there a way inside?" he asked.

The sizing up began, and their response surprised him. A young man, void of hair but with plenty of arm, neck and facial tats, including a teardrop, replied, "You wif NCIS?"

Gibbs furrowed his brow, perplexed, but then nodded, "Yep."

"You lookin' for Big T?"

"I'm looking for Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

"Yeah, Big T," the boy repeated. With a jerk of his hand, the younger boys parted and the skinhead motioned for them to follow him.

Reluctantly, Gibbs sized up the situation. The younger boys looked concerned. They certainly weren't looking for a fight or an encounter of any kind but they might be looking for answers. His gut told him to follow, so he crawled through the hole in the building and caught up to the boy. McGee and Ziva followed. They walked behind him as they crossed a cement floor littered with construction debris, trash and stuff they didn't want to look too closely at. Ziva asked, "How did you know we were with NCIS?"

"You jest look like it. My name's Kojak." He approached a wrought-iron gate and hoisted it up. Then he walked under it and motioned for them to follow. Once inside, he lowered the gate and pressed a large red button on a metal box swinging from a cable, and held it in until the platform began to rise.

"My name's Gibbs, Jethro Gibbs, and this is Tim McGee and Ziva David."

"Yeah, I figger'd as much. But it nice to have a name to a face."

"Kojak. Interesting name," Gibbs said, ignoring the fact that he knew them.

"T gave it t' me, after some TV dude." The lift jerked to a stop on the top floor. Kojak lifted the gate and stepped aside.

Gibbs, McGee, and Ziva just stood there looking into the room. If the basement was a haven for junkies and homeless bums, this floor was a luxurious retreat for Donald Trump. Gibbs walked in slowly and looked around.

Kojak enjoyed their reaction, "Nice, huh?"

Ziva was skeptical and said, "This can't be Tony's apartment."

"Why not? He lives large and this is livin' large." Kojak smiled, displaying a gold tooth.

"You know him?" Gibbs said.

"Shur I know 'em. We all know Big T!"

Turning his attention back to the room, Gibbs moved his eyes from one end to the other. Based on the twenty foot high rafter ceiling, the room took up the entire top floor. Looking to the left, instead of seeing a wall, there was an entire bank of windows that overlooked the Anacostia River which served as a front to the nation's monuments. Underneath their feet was solid hardwood flooring, mahogany planks with at least twenty coats of wax, giving it a watery appearance. On the southeast side of the room was a full basketball court, complete with official height hoops and painted lines. At ninety-four feet long and fifty feet across, the court had plenty of space on each side for spectators.

McGee turned to face Kojak's smiling mug and asked, "Are you sure this is Anthony DiNozzo's place?"

"Shur I'm shur." He walked across the room and the squish of his two hundred dollar tennis shoes echoed in the vast space. "And you ain't even seen the best part."

They followed him as he walked past the plush leather sofa facing the windows, around a corner and into the second half of the suite. If the basketball court side was amazing, this half was spectacular. Just like the other side, the entire wall was made up of windows overlooking the river and the city, and the floor was made of the same high grade wood. There was a baby grand piano, lacquered black, set up and ready to play, an acoustic guitar resting on a stand, and several other instruments waiting for someone to make them sing. A kitchen was in the middle of the room complete with professional grade appliances and a temperature controlled cabinet filled with wine. Someone could do some serious cooking if he or she were so inclined. The kitchen was designed in a circle with the axis being the exhaust vent sprouting up the center like a cast iron chimney. Ziva looked for a turntable style disc on the floor just to make sure the kitchen wasn't built on a giant lazy-Susan. She marveled at the simplicity of the design without losing an ounce of functionality.

Kojak enjoyed watching their faces. He was leaning up against the brushed steel double-door refrigerator grinning like this was his own place. "An you still havn't seen the bes' part." He ticked his head backwards and Gibbs walked around the circular kitchen and stopped. On the other side of the kitchen was the bedroom. Only, it wasn't really a room with a bed, it was more like a bed occupying a giant space. The view out that window was of the Potomac River with Virginia as its backdrop. The king sized bed was wrapped in white satin sheets with black satin pillows and comforter. A small bedside table held several books and several remotes.

"Now this looks more like something Tony would have," Ziva commented.

"I don't see any electronics," McGee said. "What do these remotes control?"

Kojak reveled in his job as tour guide and strutted to a seemingly innocuous wall. He pulled down a latch and opened a panel which displayed an array of switches. He pressed one and the place came to life. A theater sized plasma screen descended from the ceiling and several speakers became visible in the rafters. "He can control dis whole place from here, or he can use any o' them remotes. If I press dis button here, it'll turn on the Jacuzzi." He pressed it and the sound of running water could be heard followed by the low hum of mnemonic jets.

"Where's that coming from?" McGee asked.

"Through there," Kojak said, pointing at a double door that looked like it led nowhere. Gibbs pushed it open and there was the bathroom. The five hundred square foot room was complete with two toilets (hidden discreetly behind movable partitions), two sinks, one over-sized shower with two shower heads, and one eight-seater Jacuzzi, which was filling fast with water and fogging up the windows around it. A chandelier hung from the high rafters.

Gibbs was stunned into silence. Finally, he said, "How can we be sure this place belongs to Tony?"

Kojak shrugged, "Makes no dif'rence to me if yo believe it or not. But since yo're here and he ain't, he must be in trouble."

"Why would you say that?" Ziva asked.

"'Cuz he always says to me if any of you came around lookin' for him, it's 'cuz he's in some sort of trouble." He walked away from the panel and over to an antique chiffarobe. He opened the doors wide and pulled open a small drawer. Gently he removed a picture and handed it to Ziva.

She studied it. It was a picture of a young brown eyed boy standing next to a tall and beautiful woman who was standing next to Tony, only the picture was dated 1979 so it couldn't have been Tony. She looked closer and realized that the woman must have been his mother and the man must have been his father, and that the boy was actually Tony. She handed it over to Gibbs.

Gibbs studied it a moment before saying, "What does this prove?"

"I dunt know," the boy shrugged. "T tol me give it ta yo if yo ever came lookin'. So I give it to yo."

Ziva clarified, "It's Tony's way of proving that his place actually belongs to him."

Gibbs returned the picture to the drawer and closed the door.

"Something happened to 'im, hasn't it?" Kojak asked, suddenly losing the tough guy attitude.

"If it's okay with you, we'd like to look around."

"Shur, I'll be downstairs if yo need me."

After he left, Gibbs took a minute to digest the place and the tour guide. Quietly he issued orders, "Spread out…start looking around."

Ziva and McGee exchanged glances, wondering which one of them was going to ask, 'looking for what?' But they knew better and they started searching their colleague's place. Ziva took the kitchen, looking inside drawers and opening cabinets, studying their contents. She felt odd, like she was at a party she hadn't been invited to. She wanted to do her job, but she kept thinking Tony was going to walk through the door and be pissed, perhaps beyond pissed, but there was nothing she could do about it but try to look for clues to his whereabouts.

Gibbs walked to a window and looked outside. Of all the places he could have imagined his senior field agent living, this wasn't one of them. A place ten times the size of an average house, immaculately kept, with nary a dust ball or cobweb was just not Tony's style; or was it? Across the way, he noticed something odd for an apartment, not so odd for a warehouse. He walked the length of the hard wood floor and studied it. It was a ladder. There must have been 20 rungs going straight up. It was made of strong steel and anchored to the wall at the bottom and halfway up. There was fresh dirt on one of them. "Ziva." He called over his shoulder and waited until she was next to him before saying, "Go up this ladder."

Without hesitation, she climbed to the top and pushed on the trap door. It easily swung up and over, displaying the cirrus clouds above. Gibbs watched her disappear, and then he heard her say, "Gibbs, you had better get up here."

He took the rungs two at a time and pulled himself onto the roof. It was as palatial as the inside. The rooftop was actually a topiary garden, complete with trees, shrubs and flowers. Near the edge were a table and four chairs. He sensed death before he saw it. On the stone floor, a body lay in a pool of blood. His heart sank; that undeniable sinking feeling that one has when terrible news is imminent.

*******************************************8

The crowd of people continued to grow as the police cars and official vehicles arrived. The yellow tape blocked access to the building but because no one could be sure how many access points there were, the entire building was surrounded in tape.

The group of boys had dissipated save for a few who opted to stick around and watch the commotion. Kojak eyed them cautiously.

"In case you're wondering," Vance stated to Gibbs, "I called the FBI. The last thing we need is to have agencies insinuating that we're trying to cover anything up."

"I'm not covering anything up," Gibbs replied.

"But this is an NCIS agent's apartment, and a dead guy was found here."

"I wouldn't exactly call it an apartment," McGee said, squinting under the bright sun.

Gibbs added, "And the agent is missing." He wanted that to be perfectly clear because as much as he wanted to solve the murder of the man lying dead on Tony's rooftop garden, he wanted more to find his agent. He watched as FBI Special Agent Tobias Fornell got out of his car and approached.

"Gibbs."

"Fornell."

"If I understand correctly, there's a dead man in DiNotzo's apartment, and DiNotzo's gone."

"Tony's missing," Gibbs corrected, "and there's a dead man on the rooftop."

Fornell looked around the neighborhood and finally landed on the group of boys loitering on broken down steps, "Tough neighborhood for your boy to live in. Don't you pay enough?"

"I want Ducky on this," Gibbs said, ignoring the question. "Do you object?"

"Nope. I only care that I get credit for the bust, whether it's DiNotzo or someone else."

"Tony didn't do it," Gibbs stated.

"It's not the first time I've heard you say that. DiNotzo gets into more trouble than any other agent on the force, and that includes the FBI."

"Ducky's already inside, waiting for the go ahead. I think I'll stay out here and ask around," Gibbs stated, sending a surreptitious glance at Kojak, "unless you object?"

Fornell shook his head, "Knock yourself out. Just remember to keep me in the loop on whatever you find." Fornell sauntered past Ziva and McGee towards the hole in the building. Vance followed.

"Director?" Gibbs shouted.

Vance turned and waited.

"Do you think it's a good idea to go up there?"

Vance furrowed his brow, wondering what kind of question that was.

Gibbs continued, "I just think you'll have more questions than answers if you go."

"I used to be a bachelor myself, Gibbs. I think I can handle a bachelor pad." He turned and slipped through the hole.

"I'd love to see his expression when he sees Tony's place," McGee said. He noticed Gibbs staring at someone and asked, "You have something, Boss?"

Gibbs nodded towards a woman, dark skinned, sixtyish and plump, with short cropped hair and a streak of grey running through it. Her light blue maid's outfit was about 40 years out of date, but she wore it proudly and held onto her handbag as if it contained gold bars. Gibbs had watched her talk to Kojak, nervous like. "Invite that woman over."

Ziva nodded and a few minutes later she was escorting her under the tape and over to Ducky's medical transport. Gibbs introduced himself, "I'm Special Agent Gibbs, and this is Special Agent McGee and you've met Officer David. We work with Tony DiNozzo at NCIS." He studied her reaction but she remained stolid. "Do you know who he is?"

"Yessir, I do. My name's Annabelle Jackson and I live two blocks over."

Ziva asked, "Miss Jackson, do you mind telling us how you know Tony?"

"Don't mind a'tall. I met Mr. Anthony— that's what I call him, five years ago. He couldn't walk up them there steps, he was so sick. Said he had pneumonia, but I seen people with pneumonia and he didn't have no pneumonia. I mind my own business. Ya'know what I'm sayin'? I help him carry his things up, neighborly-like. You know, sometimes I think we plumb forget what it's like to be neighborly anymore. Lord, what a mess it was too. His apartment, that is. I help him into bed and he just 'bout pass out from the exertion. I look around and I jest can't leave it like that knowin' he ain't gonna get up and clean it. Besides, I raised myself enough white boys to know on a good day he ain't gonna clean, and it wasn't a good day. Ya'know what I'm sayin'? I tol myself I was only gonna pick up a few things, but 'for I knowd it, I had done cleaned it all up. He was mighty appreciative too. You know, he does so much for these kids here in the neighb'hood. I had only ever heard about Big T, as they like to call him, always thought he was some old man trying to atone for past sins, but then I get a look at this fine looking young fellow and I can't help myself. So, I help him out while he too sick to help hisself. I cook for him and shop for him, and clean for him. And you know what he done up and do? He put five thousand dollars in my account! I ain't never seen that kinda money 'for. But I don't argue none, cuz Lord knows I can use it."

"He hired you then?" McGee asked.

"Oh heavens no, child… well, not 'xactly. He never asked me to leave so I just kept cleaning, and I ain't never stopped. It's all I knowd to do, and cleanin' a fine place like his, well that's a once in a lifetime arrangement. O' course, I try to do it while he ain't around, and 'for he brings his lady friends up. You know, a healthy young man like that need a woman or two around. But 'for you getting to jumping to no conclusions, Mr. Anthony rarely brings his lady friends back here to his place. You got be a special lady to make it back here. I ain't never seen him disrespect one o' his ladies, either, have you?"

McGee stuttered, not knowing how to answer it. Thankfully, Ziva offered, "Well, we know Tony in a professional manner."

"Oh, I sees."

"You said he does a lot for the kids around here?" Ziva continued. "What does he do?"

She furrowed her brow, almost reluctant to share the stories. Years of keeping to oneself has left an imprint on her behavior. But then she just let it out, "Lord, he does what others can't, or won't. He tutors them, and takes them midnight calls from the joint, and when they daddies beat 'em, he open up his home. I reckon all that was getting to be too much for 'im with all the work he do for you, which is why I think he started the music and the basketball games. Ya'know what I'm sayin'? Thems two of his favorite things to do, play music and play basketball. And watch movies! Lord, he loves hisself some movies! But he watches his movies alone. I guess he likes it that way. Anyway, Lordy! can he play! I hear 'im sometimes just sitting behind that big o' piano and playin' music that would make them tears run right out yo' eyes, so sweet and gentle. Lots of feeling in them notes, like he got something to say but don't know how to say it." She suddenly stops and looks over at his building, then down at the ground.

Gibbs noticed the change in demeanor and asked, "Miss Jackson, do you know where he might be?"

She looked around nervously and then took a step closer to the truck, trying to blend in as much as possible. "Well, I reckon somethin' bad's a happened to 'im."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, it was the day 'for yesterday. I was coming 'round to do my cleaning, sees, and I see Mr. Anthony out front here. And down yonder is a long black limousine. Two men call out to 'im, they knowed his name, and they called out, 'Tony?' and Mr. Anthony turns 'round but I can tell he ain't too happy to see 'em. They talk, but Mr. Anthony don't want to talk. I sees one of them pull a gun and that's when Mr. Anthony walks back to the limousine with 'em."

"Did they leave?"

"Nuh-uh," she shakes her head. "They sit in the back o' that fancy car for five minutes. Then Mr. Anthony, along with three other men, gets out and they all goes up to his place."

"Do you know what the conversation was about?"

"No ma'am, I do not. I don't try to listen on conversation not meant for me. But I could tell it weren't no good talking. Mr. Anthony, he always so happy and joking around, but he weren't happy with them fellows and I knowed he weren't joking 'round none.'

"When did they leave?"

"I don't rightly know. I jest did what I always do when I see Mr. Anthony come home with a woman, I jest leave. I figger I can clean the place as easily tomorrow as I can today. And I don't wanna interfere none. Ya'know what I'm sayin'?"

"Yes ma'am. Can you describe the men?" McGee asked.

"Less see," she begins, rubbing one hand over her chin, "They was dressed nice like, Sunday best. And they had dark hair and dark eyes, sort of like Mr. Anthony."

"Do you remember seeing the license plate?"

"Yes I do. I'm originally from New York. I remember the car 'cuz I 'member thinkin' that's the second time I seen a New York limousine this week. Both times was outside this here building."

Gibbs turned to McGee and said, "Check to see if there are any surveillance cameras."

Miss Jackson smiled politely, "I can save you the trouble, they ain't no cameras in this part of town. Black folk can't afford 'em and the white folk don't care. They ain't nothin' to see ov'r here." She wasn't bitter about it, just matter of fact like.

All the same, McGee started a routine check to see if he could find any cameras that may have captured an image of the car, or Tony, or both.

*******************************************8

Gibbs sat at his desk, somewhere between pissed and confused. His agent was missing and they had little to go on. He thought about Tony and wondered just how well he could say he knew him. At that very minute, he was feeling like he didn't know the man at all. Why hadn't he ever gone and visited Tony? If wasn't like he'd never been asked. He'd turned down so many invitations that they eventually stopped coming. He had no idea that he lived in a place like that. None of them did. He'd seen McGee's overly cluttered apartment, had dinner at Ziva's upscale condo, visited the Director at his family home, and had been to Ducky's house numerous times. He'd even been to Abby's "cave", but he'd never been to DiNozzo's place. Correction: he'd never been to DiNozzo's _new_ place, the one he moved into five years ago. Hell, he'd never even asked to see it.

McGee and Ziva entered carrying an evidence box. McGee sat it on his desk and turned to Gibbs, "These are tapes from Tony's place. There might be something on one of them that can help us."

Ziva continued, "Evidently, Tony recorded games and recitals and such. They were often used to get the boys into magnet schools, colleges, and in some cases, were used to show character in court trials, according to Kojak."

"Any activity on Tony's accounts?"

McGee shook his head, "None."

Gibbs picked up the media. Some were VHS tapes, some were CDs, and some were thumb drives. This only served to annoy him more. He dropped the tape and left, forcing Ziva and McGee to exchange worried looks.

Preoccupied, Gibbs entered autopsy, "Do we know who the dead man is yet?"

"No, but we do know he died execution style."

"A single bullet to the head?"

The ME nodded.

"Thanks. Keep me posted." Time was of the essence and as quickly as he left autopsy, he just a quickly entered Abby's laboratory, and asked, "Do we know the weapon that shot him?"

Abby grinned, "Of course we do. We not only know the weapon, but the make, model, and year as well as the seller of the bullets."

"Is it Tony's?"

"No. It's a Russian PB 6P9, fairly obscure, frequently silenced, small semi-auto pistol."

"You saying they used a silencer?"

"I can't be sure, but my knowledge of this gun is that you don't use it unless you want a gun that can be fitted with a silencer."

"Anything else?"

"The blood you found doesn't all belong to the same person. And, of course, Tony's fingerprints are everywhere… he lives there… but we did get a partial off the man's wallet. I'm running it now through our databases."

"Don't bother, there won't be a match."

"How do you know? I've just started."

"I just know."

*******************************************8

Fornell exited the elevator and walked towards Gibbs' desk. He had mentally prepared himself for the meeting, but where Leroy Jethro Gibbs was concerned, there wasn't any real way to fully prepare for such an encounter. And when it came to his agents, Gibbs had been known to become one hell of a mean and protective SOB. He offered his usual salutation, "Gibbs."

"What'd'ya got?"

"You're not going to like it."

Barely controlling himself, Gibbs waited patiently.

"The dead man is Levon Colletti, out of New York."

The name Colletti sounded familiar and McGee tapped it into his computer. "Colletti? Wasn't he in the news recently?"

Fornell turned around, wondering if he wanted to have this conversation out in the open. "Jethro, should we talk in private?"

"No. Whatever you have to say, say it."

"Okay. Yes, Agent McGee, Levon Colletti has been in the news lately. He's very high up the food chain in the Sambolli Family, based out of New York. His death is going to cause quite a problem."

Ziva asked, "He's Mafia? What does Tony have to do with the Mafia?"

Fornell lifted his shoulders, "I was hoping one of you might shed some light on the matter."

Gibbs thought about it and said, "Some Mafia guy ends up dead in Tony's apartment. Why?"

"That's my question. The sooner we find DiNotzo, the sooner we can get our questions answered."

"We're working on it, Fornell. You got any leads?"

Before he could answer, Ziva interrupted, " _We_ might, Gibbs. Take a look at this." On the plasma, a grainy video of a basketball game appeared.

"Yeah? So? What am I looking at?"

Ziva froze the frame and pointed to the corner. There, standing off to the side were two men dressed in dark suits, one looked like the dead man. "Who's the other guy?"

Ziva shrugged but Fornell answered, "That's Manny Sambolli."

"McGee, pull his record," Gibbs said, although he didn't need to actually say it.

They were so intent on the video that they didn't notice the security escort standing just outside the bullpen. "Special Agent Gibbs?" he said, barely loud enough to get the man's attention.

Gibbs turned around and saw that behind the security escort was Miss Annabelle Jackson. In front of her was a boy who looked like he was going to run except that Miss Jackson's hands were placed squarely on each shoulder.

"Thank you," Gibbs said, dismissing the escort.

"Agent Gibbs," Miss Jackson said. "I brought Marcus here 'cuz he has somethin' to tell yo."

It was amazing how Gibbs' demeanor changed. He looked down at the young boy, sensing his fear and seeing his hesitation. "Hi, Marcus. I'm Special Agent Gibbs."

The boy looked around, big round eyes taking in the scenery, looking at the plasma screen and sizing up each of the people, doubtful of their intentions.

Gibbs continued, "Did you know Big T?"

The boy nodded his head.

Gibbs walked over to Tony's desk and pulled out his chair. "This is where he sits. This is his chair and his desk."

Marcus licked his lips, conveying an excitement that only a boy of eight can do.

"Go on, have a seat."

Marcus walked to the chair and jumped into it. He leaned back and pressed the bottoms of his sneakers against the front of the desk.

"Would you like a drink? Maybe a soda?"

Marcus looked at Annabelle for direction, and then slowly shook his head.

Gibbs pushed the chair in so Marcus was now sitting behind Tony's desk. He allowed the boy to look over it, maybe even see something that would put his mind at ease. The boy spied the Mighty Mouse stapler and his eyes lit up. Gibbs pushed it towards him and gently asked, "Do you know what happened to Big T?"

Marcus dropped his head. Miss Jackson said, "Go on, Marcus, you tell 'em jest what you tol' me. Ev'ry word."

Marcus began slowly, "I saw some men hurt 'im."

"What did you see?" Gibbs calmly asked.

"It was rainin' and I want to shoot some hoops, but there ain't no place to play 'round mah house without gettin' soakin' wet. Me an' Rett, we know a way into T's place, to his court. We found it last year when we was explorin'."

"Is Rett your friend?" Ziva asked.

He nodded his head. "Yeah, he's a year older than me but won't play wif me if any of the older boys are out watching. He says I'm too little for him. But he's too big to fit through the hole, so I went by myself."

Gibbs asked, "A hole? Is that how you get up to Big T's place?"

Marcus nodded rapidly, "Yeah. I just need help reaching the fire escape. Tha's what Rett's good for. We climb up to the busted out window and crawl in. From there, we take the silver tunnel and scooch up to the roof. It ain't tha' hard but Rett's gettin' too big to do it, so I went alone. He tol' me to just send the elevator down to the third floor and he'd get in there."

"Is that what you did?"

"No. I got to the roof okay but there was people coming up through the door. That's when I got scared and hid behind one of those big puffy plants."

"What happened?"

"I saw T right away, and he wasn't happy. They fought, only it wasn't no fair fight cuz there was three of em' against one. They put those handcuffs on him and said he'd eventually see things their way."

"Do you remember what they wanted?"

Marcus shook his head. I couldn't hardly hear nothing cuz' I was on the other side. I couldn't stand watching them hit T, so I buried my head in my hands. But when I looked up T and the old guy was gone, and that's when he done it."

"Done what?"

"I saw one of em' take out a gun and shoot the other in the head."

Gibbs gave that comment an extra moment to digest before he coaxed, "Then what happened?"

"The man left and I ran back to the tunnel. Got outa there fast as I could."

Gibbs placed a hand on his shoulder. "If we showed you some pictures, do you think you could identify these men?"

"I ain't no snitch. Kojak'll kill me if he thinks I snitch on anyone."

"It's important to T that we find him. You want to find Big T, don't you?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah! I dun want nothin' to happen to 'im. He's good to me. He teached me how to play basketball. I can dribble it between my legs now!"

Gibbs patted the boy's shoulder and nodded his approval. "Ziva! Take him to Abby, try to get an ID on those other men."

Ziva, Marcus and Miss Jackson walked past Director Vance, who waited for the elevator doors to close before saying, "What was that about?"

Gibbs turned to Fornell and said, "My agent's officially a missing agent and not a suspect. You heard it yourself from an eye-witness."

"I'll read about it in your report," Vance interrupted, "In the meantime, SECNAV called. Says he doesn't like what he's hearing."

"What's he hearing?"

"That one of his agents is involved with the Mafia."

"News travels fast around here. And to think I thought the FBI was the only agency that spread rumors before they formed," Fornell said.

Vance added, "We need to find him before SECNAV decides bad press isn't worth finding DiNozzo." He quickly raised a hand at the inevitable, "Before you object, Gibbs, you and I both know that he can, and WILL, do whatever it takes to protect this agency."

Gibbs shifted, for he knew that to be true.

*******************************************8

"Abby? Whad'ya have for me?" Gibbs said entering her lab with Fornell. He hadn't realized that it'd be filled with people. Marcus and Miss Jackson were still there and the boy looked as if he never wanted to leave. His eyes were wide with wonder at the screens blinking and the people working.

"WE have a lot for you," she said. "Actually, I have something for you, Ziva has something for you, McGee has something for you, and Marcus has something for you. Who do you want to start with?"

"Abby!" he said, not in the mood to be playing games.

"Good choice! We know the dead man is Levon Colletti, as close to being a member of the Sambolli family as it gets. He was killed execution style, which implies one of two things: 1) someone inside his own family killed him to send a message, or 2) a rival family killed him to send a message."

"Which one is it?"

"I might be able to answer that," McGee said. "Remember the two men watching the basketball game? One was Coletti and the other was Manny Sambolli."

"I already told you that," Fornell said, not wanting to miss an opportunity to take credit for something.

"Yes, but did you also know that Sambolli was jealous of Colletti?"

From Fornell's scowl, it was evident he didn't.

"Manny Sambolli was not the son his father had hoped he'd be. He was a screw up and didn't have the brains to run one small section of dear ole dad's organization, much less take over the entire New York operation. But Colletti was a different story. He proved himself many times that he had not only the brains but also the stomach to do whatever it takes to run an organization such as the one Manny's father built."

"How's this fit into DiNozzo's disappearance?"

Ziva took over, "According to my sources in New York, dear ole dad, Emmanuel Sambolli, wants to develop the area around Anacostia into another one of his kingdoms. His son, Manny, told his father that he could get the area for next to nothing. It was an attempt on Manny's part at proving himself to dear old dad, but dear old dad didn't believe him, so he sent Colletti to D.C. to keep an eye on his son and make sure Manny didn't screw things up. Manny must have seen an opportunity to permanently get rid of his nemesis. Manny kills Colletti and frames Tony for the killing.

"He must know that it won't stick?" Fornell said.

"Like we said, Manny Sambolli isn't the sharpest tool in the shed."

"Who's the other man in all this?" Gibbs said.

"I'm glad you asked!" Abby said. She nodded at Marcus.

On his cue, the young boy held up a pencil sketch of a man.

"Abbs…" Gibbs toned, again feeling his frustration level raise.

She quickly pushed an electronic copy of the sketch to the plasma along with another photo. "Marcus' description was so good that when I ran it, we got a hit. The third man is A.K. Dawkins, a property developer that's had more run-ins with the law than all the Sambolli's combined."

"Can we tie them together?"

"We can do better than that. Dawkins and Manny met ten years ago in prison. They were both serving short prison sentences for crimes they committed against property. Both thought they could acquire some property cheap if they torched it—they got caught and sent to prison which is how they met. After his release, A.K. Dawkins moved to DC and started a property management business, which he keeps in his brother-in-law's name."

"You think Dawkins killed Colletti?"

"Probably not," McGee said. "Dawkins isn't above burning down a place or bilking customers out of money, but I'm guessing he doesn't have the stomach to murder someone. The most likely scenario is one where Tony and Dawkins left the rooftop together. Manny probably sent them on their way while he and Colletti stayed behind under the guise that they needed to discuss something. That's probably when Manny pulled his gun and killed Colletti. I'd bet that Dawkins has no idea."

Fornell furrowed his brow. "I'm still confused. What is the connection between Colletti, Sambolli, Dawkins, and your agent?"

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Finally, Abby admitted, "We're not sure."

"Well take a guess!" Gibbs demanded.

"Well…we think—" Ziva jumped in, "we think that Dawkins approached Tony about selling his place. Tony, we think, was the only obstacle standing in the way of this conglomerate buyout."

"Special Agent Gibbs?" Miss Jackson said. "It wasn't 'til I saw his face, but I 'member him, that Dawkins fellow, comin' 'round asking 'bout our neighborhood. He had that smarmy way 'bout him that turned me off. You know, like he really has your interest at heart when he really only wants yo money."

"You can ask Kojak," Marcus said. "I saw 'em talking, too."

That was all the proof Fornell needed. "I'm picking up A.K. Dawkins. If I'm right, he's the weak link in all this."

Gibbs nodded and watched him leave. Then he turned to his team. He wouldn't feel good until he had Tony back, but right now, he was feeling a lot better than this morning. "Good work."

"Mr. Agent?" Marcus said. "You don't think they'll hurt him again, do you?"

Gibbs touched the boy's shoulder, "I don't know, Marcus. But Big T is capable of taking care of himself."

"In a fair fight, but there was three against one."

"We're going to even out those odds."

"Good. Cuz Big T promised to teach me how to do a crossover dribble today."

"I'll tell you what: The two of us, Big T and me, will teach you how to dribble. How's that sound?"

The big brown eyes popped with excitement at the idea that two men were going to teach him how to play basketball. "Tonight?"

Gibbs waggled his head.

That was Miss Jackson's cue to take Marcus and leave.

*******************************************8

Gibbs closed his cell phone. "That was Fornell. He picked up Dawkins five minutes ago and is taking him in for questioning."

Ziva worried. Once Manny Sambolli learns that his partner has been picked up, what would stop him from killing Tony?

"Wha'd'ya got McGee?"

"Dawkins doesn't own too many properties. In fact, he owns exactly three dilapidated and abandoned shacks."

"What do you wanna bet that Tony's at one of them?"

Ziva grabbed her backpack and had to jog after her boss to keep up.

The first address proved empty. It wasn't quite the shack that McGee had pictured, but it was run down and abandoned and would have been a perfect place to hide someone. The second address was more in keeping with what he'd pictured. The roof was caving in and the walls had holes in them. But again, no Tony. By the time they reached the third address, they were in a part of the city that most police didn't go.

Gibbs studied the structure. It was the same size and general layout as the other two, but it was decidedly in worse condition. The rats didn't bother to run when they stepped out of the car, and the air was filled with blood and pestilence. This was it: he felt Tony's presence.

With just a tick of his head, he sent Ziva around the right side of the structure and McGee around the left. He pulled his weapon and went straight for the front. Since no door hung on the hinges, he didn't have to bust through anything, but more importantly, he didn't have to announce himself. He gripped his Sig tighter and forced his senses on alert. The last thing he wanted was for Tony to get caught in any cross fire.

"Tony?" he whispered. He stopped and listened, but heard nothing. He inched further inside and damn near shot a rat scurrying across the floor. He whipped around a corner, gun held high and ready, but nothing. "Tony?" he said again. In a hallway, he met up with Ziva, who had entered through a broken window, and together they made their way towards the back of the house.

Gibbs pulled up suddenly and listened. There was someone in the next room. He didn't hear anything, he just knew. He signaled to Ziva and she steadied her gun and readied herself. On three, they entered, he first, she second.

"Stay back or I swear I'll kill him!"

Gibbs sized up the situation: Manny Strombolli, nervous and sweaty, was holding a gun to Tony's head. Tony didn't seem too worse for wear, but he wasn't in terribly good shape either.

"NCIS. Drop your weapon," Ziva said, ignoring the condition of her partner.

"I'll kill him if you come any closer. I've got nothing to lose and he won't be my first."

McGee joined them through a back door, weapon drawn, and Strombolli retreated behind his prisoner, "I'm warning you!"

Gibbs lowered his weapon. He didn't want Manny to get skittish while holding a semi-automatic to the head of his agent. "Did you kill Levon Colletti?"

"No. Dawkins did!"

"Is that a Russian PB 6P9 pistol?"

"I got it from Dawkins."

"Whad'ya wanna bet that A.K. Dawkins is rolling over on you right now as we speak?"

Manny fidgeted with his gun. His mind was racing, trying to figure a way out.

Gibbs just needed to keep him confused. Nodding towards his agent, he said, "What's the matter, Manny, DiNozzo wouldn't sign over his property to you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your father's plan to expand his operation. Didn't you promise him that you could get it started? Isn't he counting on you to acquire a good chunk of property so he can begin developing it with companies that won't mind laundering his money?"

Manny swallowed.

"The only thing you didn't plan on was a federal agent living in one of the most desirable locations in SE Washington. Get hold of that property and dear ole dad just might let you run his DC business."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. In fact, you actually saw an opportunity to get rid of your competition. Once Dawkins and DiNozzo left, you stayed behind with Colletti. You might have had an argument or you simply decided he was unnecessary baggage, whatever the reason, you killed him. And you tried to make it look like DiNozzo did it. But the problem is you're not smart enough to pull something like that off."

Manny Strombolli shifted from foot to foot. His nostrils flared at the accusations.

Gibbs continued, "You want to know what I think? I think Colletti is the one who saved your butt every time you screwed up. And I think that you resented him for it. I'm guessing that somewhere in your delusional brain, you actually believed that you no longer needed him, which is why he found himself on the wrong end of your gun."

"You can't prove anything!" he said, pressing his hardware harder against Tony's temple.

"Does it matter?" Gibbs asked. He sent a sideways glance at Ziva, the meaning of which was not lost on her.

Manny stuttered, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Does it really matter what we can and cannot prove? Once dear old dad gets wind of what you've done, you think he's going to be very happy with you?"

Manny's breathing quickened and his eyes flinted.

"I think he's going to be pissed at you. Probably so much so that you'll find yourself driving his limousine instead of riding in it with him."

"Shut up!"

"I don't know, Manny…"

"I said shut up! I swear I'll kill him!" His gun shook at his agent's head.

"You're done, Manny," Gibbs toned. "You're done!"

Ziva saw the pressure of the trigger on his finger but she squeezed hers first. They both got off shots, only Manny momentarily froze, his eyes a blank stare of confusion and surprise. Then the blood began gushing from a single hole between his eyes; he swayed a moment, then crumpled to the floor, dead before he hit it.

Gibbs was next to Tony ignoring the blood pooling at his shoe. He quickly assessed his agent: badly beaten but not life threatening. The bullet graze across his skull was more worrisome.

"How is he?" Ziva said, her own gun still pointing at Manny on the floor.

"Tony? Can you hear me?" Gibbs asked, holding Tony's chin up.

But his agent was unresponsive. And the rats were staring at them through the holes in the walls, their little whiskers twitching like they hadn't a care in the world.

*******************************************8

Ziva and McGee stepped off the elevator together. Ziva giggled, "You are right, McGee. I am in a good mood." She didn't bother to explain that she had spent her evening texting with Tony. "You look happy too," she added, fishing for details.

"I am. Abby and I took Marcus to the movies last night since Tony was in no condition to play basketball with him."

"Has he been to see Tony—er Big T, yet?"

"Not since he got home from the hospital. But Marcus says Big T didn't go back to his place."

Ziva slid her purse in her drawer and said, "What?"

McGee shrugged, "Yeah, apparently he's staying someplace else."

A twang of jealousy hit her, but she was in too good a mood to let it overtake her. She changed the subject, "Big T. What a name. Fits him somehow."

McGee gave it some thought and agreed, "Yeah, I guess it does. Did you know that Tony has given thousands of dollars to his neighborhood YMCA?"

"Who knew he had it to give?"

"Where does a federal agent get that kind of money? You don't suppose his father's involved, do you?"

She shrugged, "Where the Anthony DiNozzo's of the world are concerned, anything is possible, McGee." She turned her attention to her boss, who was seated at his desk reviewing a file. "Gibbs, have you visited Tony at his place since he's come home from the hospital?"

"He moved."

"What?"

"He updated his personnel file with his new address."

Ziva furrowed her brow at McGee. This was news to her seeing as she spent a good part of the evening talking with him and he didn't mention anything.

Gibbs continued, "He moved into a one bedroom apartment just across the river in North West."

"Did he give a reason?" McGee asked.

"Nope."

McGee found himself actually disappointed; he was looking forward to seeing that place again, maybe listening to some music or watching a game of basketball being played on that magnificent court. But with Tony, that invitation may never have come, so he thought about his new place and wondered if he'd ever get an invitation to it.

Gibbs had already run his own background check just to make sure everything was on the up and up. In his own cryptic way, he conveyed the following story to his team: Seems DiNozzo donated the property to a local developer who's contractually bound to build affordable housing units along with a rec center and other amenities to grow the area and give the residents an opportunity to succeed. Gibbs even learned that Kojak had been hired as a public relations liaison for the developer. Seems that deal had long been in the making and since the property had no longer belonged to Tony, he couldn't have very well signed it over to Manny Sambolli, or A.K. Dawkins, or Levon Colletti, no matter what they did to him. As of sixty days ago, he had no longer owned it, and Manny Sambolli never bothered to check it out before he plowed head first into his acquisition plan. He really was an idiot.

But he had managed to do quite a bit of damage in the short time he held his agent. DiNozzo's injuries were mostly superficial but he did have a concussion from where the bullet grazed his skull and several cracked ribs, nothing so serious as to take him out of the picture but enough to put him on extended leave. Gibbs had ridden in the ambulance with him and hadn't left the hospital until the doctors had assured him that he was going to be fine. While there, they had spent several days in comfortable silence. They both felt guilty but neither spoke of it. Gibbs wanted to talk to Tony but not until he had completely recovered. Gibbs wanted to…no, _needed to_ set things straight. Seeing him beaten and delirious made him realize just how quickly he could have lost him, any of them. And seeing Tony in the hospital, hooked up to IVs and bruised and bandaged made him realize that he didn't blame DiNozzo for Jenny's death; he never really had. He blamed himself. Where she was concerned, he had too many regrets that he could never make right. He had missed too many opportunities to change what they had had together. But he didn't have to make the same mistake twice. He may have lost where Jenny was concerned, but he didn't have to lose where DiNozzo was concerned. He'd make it right between them again. The good thing about DiNozzo was he always let him in. Even if Gibbs' own demons pushed the very people he loved away, Tony always came back. They needed each other for reasons that neither of them would ever understand, much less articulate. But they knew, and that was good enough for now.

~Fini

This was a personal challenge to see if I could write an entire story about Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo without having the character speak a single word of dialogue. Challenging myself this way helps to keep writing interesting for me, so I hope you enjoy, and as always, any and all comments are greatly appreciated. Even if you stumble across this story months after posting, I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks for reading! ~~Jasmine


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